Chocolate
by Strawberry Shortcake123
Summary: Tony and Ziva celebrate Valentine's Day with alfredo sauce, fudge brownies, and a non-date. Tiva. Fluff. Oneshot.


**Inspired by this prompt from Meg on tumblr: Tony impresses Ziva by cooking dinner for the two of them. Ziva brings over dessert. Literally and figuratively.**

**Pure fluff. Happy Valentine's Day!**

The oven timer is blaring and his alfredo sauce is about to boil over the side of the pot, but Tony is anchored to the sink, where he is holding the back of his bright red hand under a steady stream of cold water. He hops from foot to foot, narrating his pain out loud: "Ow, ow, ow, ow." Only when the sauce actually does spill onto the stovetop does he go back over there, move the pot to a different burner, and retrieve his slightly blackened loaf of garlic bread from inside the oven. In his rush, he forgets a mitt.

"Shit," he curses, returning to his previous spot and thrusting both hands under the water. _Should've ordered take-out._

As if matters couldn't get worse, a knock sounds from his front door. He groans to himself. "It's open!"

Ziva appears a second later and sets a dish down on the counter. She curiously takes in the chaotic scene around her. "How is the food coming?"

"I burned myself," he sighs. "In three different places. Listen, the sauce is ready, if you want to put it on the noodles…"

She nods and goes to work. Tony studies her, takes in her knee-length skirt and white cotton blouse, and is suddenly concerned about his casual jeans and polo_. Is this a date?_

Nobody had _said_ the word 'date'. No mention of it being Valentine's Day had been made. Tony had asked her to come over for dinner on a whim, she'd said yes, and that was it. He wasn't nervous before; now that she's actually here, he is.

Suddenly, she is right in front of him, and he realizes that he has been staring. Ziva gives him a small smile. "The food is ready now. Do you have burn ointment?"

"Uh." He thinks for a second. "Maybe. Check that third cabinet from the left."

She shuffles around inside it before exclaiming, "Aha!"

Tony breathes out in relief and turns off the faucet; as she sidles up to him, he extends both hands without even thinking. When he does think, he starts to pull them back. Ziva grabs his wrists. "No, hold on. I will do it."

She squeezes ointment onto each of the burned areas first, then gently rubs it into his skin. The pain is already lessening.

"Better?" she asks.

"Yes," he sighs happily. "I love you so much right now."

There is a pause, both in conversation and in her fingers' movements. Tony's heart thuds as his brain catches up with his runaway mouth. _She's going to leave,_ he thinks. She's going to turn around and walk out of here and never speak to him again…

Then she laughs- nervously, but it's still a laugh- and pats his cheek. He opens his eyes slowly. "Let's eat," she says. "Be careful with your hands."

Just like that, the tension evaporates. Tony adopts a cocky grin. "Yes, ma'am."

Ziva mock-glares at him. "Don't call me that. After all, I am not _nearly_ as old as you."

He gasps. "Agent David. How rude."

She winks and grabs two plates.

0000000000

"This is delicious," Ziva says, sounding surprised. And impressed. He's not sure whether to be flattered or offended. "Is it your recipe?"

"Passed down from my great-aunt Therese," he announces proudly, taking another bite of his own pasta. "Haven't made it since…"

Abruptly, he cuts himself off. She levels her gaze at him. "Jeanne?" she prods gently.

"Wendy."

Ziva nods. He watches her carefully, tries to figure out what's going through her head. Is she wondering what it means that he has cooked her the same dish he used to make for his fiancée? And on Valentine's Day, no less?

Because he sure as hell is.

After a few beats, she clears her throat and gives him an understanding smile. "Well, I am honored to be let in on the obscure fact that Tony DiNozzo can cook."

"Even though he burned himself? Multiple times?" he asks skeptically.

She shrugs. "It is endearing."

They exchange a long look. Speaking without words, like always. Then he lightly taps her leg with his foot under the coffee table and scoots toward her on the couch. Ziva briefly rests her temple against his shoulder.

"Well, just so you know," he says when she raises her head, "this is about all I know how to make. But if you ever want it again, say the word and you got it."

She chuckles. "I will hold you to that."

0000000000

When they finish eating, Ziva returns to the kitchen and emerges a second later with the fudge brownies she brought. "Store-bought," she says somewhat sheepishly, returning to her seat. "I was finishing something at work and didn't have time to bake."

He leans over her lap and takes a square of icing-coated chocolate. As soon as it lands in his mouth, he groans. "You're forgiven. These are amazing."

She takes one, chews it for a second, and then her face lights up. Tony grins, delighted to see the health queen reacting like this. "Oooh."

"Right?" Sighing happily, he takes another big bite. "This should be illegal. Seriously."

He finishes first and leans back against the couch cushion to watch her profile. With her lids at half-mast and her jaw working slowly, as if savoring the brownie in her mouth, she appears completely unguarded. Open.

She swallows one last time and turns toward him. A smear of chocolate is at the corner of her lip; before he even realizes what he's doing, his finger is there, wiping it away. Ziva's eyes widen. The world seems to slow way down.

"Sorry," he mutters, and starts to drop his hand.

"No," she says suddenly, seeming to come out of a trance. "It's okay." And then she shocks him by flattening his burnt palm against her cheek. Tony shifts a little closer. Dares to lightly rub her soft, flushed skin. She touches his elbow and then his back and then her lips are pressing down on his. He wraps his other arm around her waist, tugs her into him.

Ziva is half in his lap by the time she draws back. He leans his forehead on hers, concentrates on the warmth of her body, and tries to say something meaningful, something appropriate for the leap they've just taken. But there are no words. In the end, all he can do is kiss her again.

It's deeper now. They explore each other's mouths, and he holds her tight because that's his favorite part of this, really, just _feeling_ her all over him. For so long, his life has been defined by a constant want, an intense desire that he has to squelch… and tonight, he has it. Has _her._ His universe has narrowed down to this one singular, perfect moment, where Ziva is in his arms and all he tastes, all he smells, is chocolate.


End file.
